


It's a Stone?

by boolucole



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:59:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1994190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boolucole/pseuds/boolucole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having a Stone that gives immortality is a thoroughly stupid idea. Why not have something you can't lose, like a tattoo, or a giant stone circle? The only viable way this would be considered smart is if the Stone could find itself. A different take on that night down in the dungeons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A stone that gives life is an odd concept at the best of times. Why a stone? Why not a chalice, or a ring, or maybe even a specific design for a tattoo? Something you can't easily misplace would be a much better idea than a stone. Unless, of course, the stone could find itself, but that's as preposterous as hatching a snake from a chicken's egg.

Oh, wait...

In any case, Harry Potter had just left his friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, behind a wall of flames that barred their entrance. Harry had told them it was because Ron needed help with his injuries, but he had really only fallen a few feet at most, and he could still walk with them to Snape's logic puzzle perfectly fine. The White Queen hadn't even _touched_ him, for Merlin's sake! But Harry insisted that he must have hit his head on the way down, had a concussion, and was therefore unable to face Lord Voldemort.

"And Hermione, really? Leaving poor, injured Ron all alone and defenseless while you take a right merry jaunt with me through a raging inferno of flames? That's just a tad selfish," Harry sniffed disdainfully, sticking his nose up and turning his head away, but Hermione merely smiled sadly and went up to him.

"It takes more than spells to be a great wizard, Harry," she told him softly, laying a light kiss on his cheek before fleeing back the way they had come to send a message to Dumbledore.

"Blimey, mate," Ron said in awe, looking at the fire Hermione had disappeared into, before smirking and leaning on the shorter boy's shoulder, "You make _all_ the girls run away like that?"

"Sit down, you're injured!" Harry yelled angrily, smacking Ron upside the head and tripping him to the ground. Then he huffed irritably and stalked through the potions room to the door leading forward.

He walked in silence, the only sounds being the crackling of torches and his shoes thudding onto the ground, until his hallway suddenly opened up onto a flight of shallow steps. Cautiously stepping down, one at a time, he was surprised to see that it was _Quirrel,_ not Snape, standing in front of the Mirror of Erised.

The mumbling was a bit disconcerting, but Harry pressed on.

He managed to step close enough to the Professor to make out his mutterings of complex magical formulae and, oddly enough, the mating habits of penguins, before Professor Quirrel noticed the scuffing of his shoes and whirled around. His eyes, panicked and feral, slowly calmed to a look of contemptable amusement, and he smirked ever-so-slightly.

"I was wondering whether I'd be seeing you here, Potter," he said conversationally, crossing his arms with an air of casuality.

"Can't say I've wondered the same, Professor," he replied neutrally, flicking his gaze around at the circular, mostly-empty room before quickly looking back to Quirrel, "I would have thought Snape would be in your place."

"Yes, wouldn't you?" Quirrel drawled derisively, then mocked, "Because really, who would ever suspect p-poor, st-st-stuttering Professor Quirrel?"

"Obviously not me," Harry replied sardonically, mentally slapping himself for his oversight. Really, somebody that pathetic couldn't _not_ be evil.

"Indeed," Quirrel said dryly before seemingly losing interest and turning back to the Mirror. "Now, what does this Mirror do?" Quirrel asked, partly to Harry and partly to himself, and Harry saw no harm in telling him.

"It's called the Mirror of Erised," he supplied helpfully, "It shows not your reflection, but your heart's desire."

"Poetic, but how do I get the Stone out, then?" Quirrel snapped, but Harry merely shrugged and walked up to stand beside Quirrel.

"I dunno. _You're_ the teacher," Harry said lightly, gazing into the Mirror's depths. The mist that usually fogged the Mirror was beginning to clear, and he was interested in what it showed.

Quirrel didn't notice when Harry's eyes widened ever-so-slightly. He didn't notice when he tilted his head to the side curiously, as if listening to something. He didn't notice when Harry grinned widely and stuck his hands in his pockets.

He _did_ notice, though, when he took the Philosopher's Stone out and threw it up into the air.

"Protocol sixty-three! Execute!" he shouted, and the fire burning ominously in their wall sconces was snuffed out as the magic sustaining them was drawn into the Stone. Enchanted wind swirled around in a howling vortex of arcane force, the Stone glowing fiercely at the eye of this mystic storm, until suddenly the wind stopped and the light was snuffed out.

After stumbling around in the darkness for a full five minutes, Quirrel finally remembered that he was a wizard and lit his wand. What he saw was...odd.

Harry Potter was sitting at a conjured table, sipping some tea and happily chatting with a girl that most definitely had _not_ been there before. Her long hair was a blood-red, the same color that the Stone had been, and her eyes were the same. She was wearing a sturdy-looking leather tunic over slightly thinner leather pants, comfortable-looking shoes adorning her feet and a right _enormous_ sword strapped to her back. The entire outfit was obviously enchanted, flowing like water around her body as it was, and the sword emitted a faint glow from its sheath.

"And then she sort of twirled it, like so..." the girl was explaining to Harry, "and then I could hear its voice in my head! It was so _weird!_ "

Harry giggled a bit and informed her, "You think _that's_ bad, you should try sitting in front of the entire school with the Sorting Hat on your head. Every second up there, you're afraid it'll burst out laughing and go, 'Pfah, you're a bedwetter!'."

"Oh wow. That _is_ horrible," she laughed, then slapped a hand over her mouth as a thought occurred to her. At Harry's inquiring glance, she explained with a grin, "Imagine what it'd be like if you were Sorted when you were older," casually making an obscene hand gesture.

"Oh, Merlin! Thank Gods for childhood innocence, then. That poor Hat!" Harry exclaimed, beginning to giggle again when her hands didn't stop. She grinned and, quick as a flash, bopped him on the nose with a finger. Harry laughed harder.

"What do you think you're doing, Potter?! Where is the Stone?!" Quirrel yelled furiously.

The girl looked with disdain upon the man that would so harshly address her friend, her blood-red gaze piercing through him much as his master's had, and with contempt veritably _dripping_ from her voice she questioned, "Harry dear, who is this absolute leaf of a man exuding dark Soul magic in waves?"

"Hm? Oh, that's Professor Quirrel. He was trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone," Harry said conversationally, then lit up in a bright grin and exclaimed, "But then the nice spirit inside the Mirror told me how to summon you, and you have a bloody great _sword,_ and it's just so bloody _cool,_ so I don't think you have to worry about that any more!"

The girl, blushing from his glowing review of her, cleared her throat and faltered, "Yes, er, well, be that as it may, I'd feel much better if he wasn't around to threaten you."

And with that, she drew her sword from her sheath, pointed it at Quirrel, and intoned, "Purify."

The wall of pure healing magic that slammed into Quirrel purged him of thirteen behaviour-altering spells, three tracking charms, a mind-control spell similar to the Imperius, a self-renewing snowball charm from the Weasley twins, and one errant wraith, which howled around the room in a fury for a few moments before flying through the wall. Quirrel collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.

"Well that happened," Harry said flatly.

The girl laughed and said, "Yes it did," standing up and Vanishing the table, "And now I think it's time for you to return to your friends."

"Awww! But I wanna stay and talk to you more!" Harry pouted, slumping in his seat and crossing his arms. The girl smirked and Vanished that, too, sending Harry sprawling to the ground. He sat up and glared at her, making her laugh.

"I know you do, but think of it like looking in the Mirror," she said, going up to the Mirror. "It's nce while it lasts, but eventually-" she stopped to take out her sword, plunging it into the Mirror farther than Harry thought possible, "-you have to look away."

The fog in the mirror began to drain towards the sword, the glass dimming until it appeared to just be a regular mirror. Her sword's glow took on an orange tint, and as she slowly withdrew it, the Mirror crumpled to dust.

"Ooooooh!" Harry cat-called, "You're gonna be in troooouuubllllle!"

The girl snickered and shook her head, walking back over to Harry and crossing her arms. "So," she started, ",who exactly do you think I am?"

"Well, the sprit inside the Mirror of Erised told me that you're one of Death's disciples, the personification of immortality. By the way, I hope you got the spirit out of the Mirror before you broke it," Harry said reprovingly to the amused warrior.

"I did, and it's very happy with its new home. That is correct, but did it tell you my _name_?" she pressed importantly, widening her eyes in an effort to convey the importance of this matter.

"Uhm, not your actual name, no," Harry admitted, and the girl nodded decisively.

"Alright then. My name is Fidelius-protected, and the fact that the Mirror couldn't tell you is proof it still works," she explained, "A Fidelius Charm hides a piece of information within a person's soul. Only the Secret Keeper can tell someone else, and I'm the only Secret Keeper for my name. If you ever need me, call me either out loud and in your head, and I'll hear you."

Harry nodded quickly at the influx of information, and the girl flashed a quick smile at him before assuming a solemn air.

"My name...is Verity," she said seriously, and Harry felt a peculiar sort of magic settle around the word in his head. A moment later, Verity drew her sword and quickly slashed it down, tearing the very space in front of them in half. She pushed him through the ragged edges, a bright, "Bye Harry!" following him, before making an odd hand sigil that closed the gap easily.

Harry was immediately beset by a frantic bushy-haired girl, an even more frantic nurse, and a merrily-twinkling Headmaster, all in varying degrees of panic and all very-much wanting an explanation.

* * *

Verity stood in the dungeons for a long time, staring at the space the gap had occupied and thinking over the conversation she had had with the Fates and Death before they had sent her back to life. "Oh Harry..." she muttered, "...you poor thing. Forced to...to..." but she broke off with an angry growl before she could finish the thought. Calming herself quickly, for such behavior did _not_ befit a warrior like her, thank you very much, she made a vow, right then and there.

"I, Verity Tallor Marick, do swear upon my unlife and magic that I will help the one I know as Harry James Potter whenever and however I can. I further vow that immortality will not seek him until he is ready. So I have said it, so mote it be."

And so, with the ancient magicks fluttering around her in praise and the enraged howls of the Fates and Death ringing in her ears, Verity made a particularly rude hand gesture to a patch of empty air and vanished soundlessly.

Quirrel was found the next morning, totally fine but for some peculiar instances of lost time.


	2. Chapter 2

At first, Verity’s help didn’t manifest itself in any noticeable way. Harry still thought of his new friend often, but he didn’t connect her to any of the strange occurrences that technically shouldn’t have happened.

Firstly, Verity had gotten rid of a curiously-enchanted end table given to the Dursley’s anonymously. The magic would wear off fully in a few years, but even in just the first few days its absence was noticeable. Harry chalked it up to the fact that he had been gone for the entirety of the school year.

Then, Verity gave a stern talk to a good-natured house-elf that insisted he had to protect ‘young Master Harry Potter’. When he realized that Harry had a powerful immortal being looking out for him, he relinquished Harry’s letters and stopped diverting them. Harry simply assumed that his friends had been caught up in family activities and forgot to write.

Next, she placed a sleeping charm on Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley, in order to make them sleep through the cacophonous racket that was the Weasleys abducting their nephew. Those two great lumps called Uncle and Cousin snored loud enough to cover a jet engine starting up anyway, so Harry wasn’t suspicious at all.The latest spot of aid was a simple one. Being a first-time Floo traveler, Harry thought the sudden jerk away from his original destination was par the course for Floo travel, even though all the Weasleys were astonished he reached the intended destination with such a mangled pronunciation of Diagon Alley. In any case, Verity continued to help Harry without his knowledge.

And that is where we join our hero…

* * *

“We’re actually quite surprised you made it, mate,” Fred confided as George pulled Harry to his feet. He had been thrown out of the fireplace at a high velocity, tripped up by a stray end table, and sent sprawling to the ground, much to the amusement of everyone present.

“Indeed,” George agreed as he dusted Harry’s shoulders off, “Floo travel is normally-”

“-very picky about pronunciation,” Fred finished for his brother, then continued, “If you’re not careful-”

“-you might end up-”

“-somewhere unsavory next time!” the twins chorused together, wagging scolding fingers at the raven-haired boy. Blinking bemusedly, Harry grinned up at them.

“Perhaps I’ll just shove you two in first, then. If you come back alive, I’ll know it’s safe,” the boy joked, and the twins shot each other surprised looks.

“I do believe we’re rubbing off on him, brother dear,” Fred said to his twin, and George nodded in agreement.

At that moment, the fireplace flared green behind him, and Ron stepped from the flames with only a slight stumble. Ginny came next, then Percy, then Arthur, and then finally Molly. Said mother gave a sigh of relief and bundled Harry up into a relieved hug.

“Oh, we thought we’d _lost_ you,” she said, holding him at arm’s length to tell him sternly, “Work on your pronunciation, mister, or you might end up somewhere dangerous next time!”

“That’s what we said,” the twins said helpfully, giving identical grins, and Molly shot her sons a surprised look before glancing back at Harry.

“They did,” he confirmed, and Molly blinked in surprise before looking towards the twins again.

“Well, that was...very responsible of you two. Good job, dears,” she said in a stilted sort of way, giving them a bright smile after only a moment’s confusion, then gathered her brood up and hustled them all outside.

“That was weird,” George said shortly, and his twin nodded before they followed.

* * *

The shopping trip had been the most fun Harry had had all summer, and that was saying something considering he’d been rooming with the Weasley family for most of it. As great as the Burrow was, though, he still thought it couldn’t compare to the blatantly magical atmosphere of the Alley. The casual displays of magic throughout the day made him long for his seventeenth birthday, when he’d be able to do such things freely as well. For now though, he simply enjoyed the day.

Ron and Harry split off from the group to work through their lists for second year, gradually getting more and more burdened with books and other supplies until Harry spied a store advertising Undetectably-Expanded Bags.

They rushed in and unloaded their arms on the counter gratefully, stretching their cramped muscles before noticing the clerk watching them with an amused expression.  
  
“Looks like _you_ two could use one of the new bags we just got in stock,” he laughed, and the two boys glanced at each other.

“We _did_ think it would be a good idea,“ Harry admitted, then adopted a curious look as he asked, “But what are they exactly?”

“Undetectably-Expanded Bags. They’re bigger on the inside than they are on the outside,” the clerk started, and Harry tried not to snicker at the inside joke as he continued, “They can hold a number of things much bigger than themselves, and whenever you need something you just take it out like you would from a regular bag. Some models even come with a self-expanding mouth, which means you can stretch it until it fits whatever you’re trying to put inside!”

The raven-haired boy snapped at this. He needed this bag, and he needed it now.  
  
“Show me your best bag,” he demanded, plunking his sack of Galleons onto the counter, and the clerk glanced at it doubtfully before turning back to Harry.   
  
“This won’t get you much, kid,” the guy said apologetically, but Harry had waved him off.

“I’ve got more in my vault,” he promised, not missing the look of jealousy that flitted across Ron’s face before he reiterated, “As I said, your best bag.”

Giving an amused smile, the clerk obliged with a sweeping bow. “This way, oh rich highness,” he said grandly, and the boy laughed as he followed his pointing finger. Ron followed behind, curious.  
  
The back wall was their destination, a tall number festooned with hooks and shelves that bags hung from or stood on, where a colorfully-flashing sign proclaimed, “NEW STOCK JUST IN!”

The clerk pointed out various bags of different material and size, elaborating on their particular features and capacities, before plucking one down from a lit podium right near the top.   
  
“Now this is our best and most expensive model,” he said proudly, holding it up to the light so that the material glittered, “It’s made from specially-softened dragon-scale, meaning that it’s near indestructible and impervious to magic. It has the most holding space out of any of our bags, and it can even send whatever you ask for zipping into your fingers.”   
  
“How can you enchant it if the scales are impervious to magic?” Harry asked, and the clerk given him a  beaming look.

“Not many people catch that,” he said happily, then explained, “We don’t actually enchant the scales. We enchant the space _inside_ the bag, and the scales just naturally enhance the magic. Dragons are intensely magical creatures, but of course they can’t hold a wand. They need some way to magic, don’t they?”

Harry oohed and aahed over the bag for quite a while, but when he had counted out his Galleons he found he was short. A lot short.  
  
“One hundred _each_?” Ron said, slack-jawed, then turned to Harry and said empathetically, “Mate, _no_. You don’t need it, and besides-”

“La la la I can’t hear you stay right here I’ll be right back!” Harry sing-songed, running out of the store with his fingers in his ears and his coin pouch back in his pocket. He ran all the way to Gringotts, lest Ron have any ideas of catching up and trying to sway him, and only slowed down once he reached the tall, white building.  
  
He pushed the silver doors open and stepped into the bank’s illustriously-decorated hall, striding purposefully to an open teller and waiting patiently until the goblin looked up.   
  
Yes?” the banker sneered, but Harry wasn’t perturbed.   
  
“I need to make a withdrawal from my vault,” Harry stated firmly, and the goblin raised an eyebrow before giving a small nod.   
  
“Key?” he prompted, and Harry stared at him a moment before slapping a hand to his forehead.   
  
“I don’t have it,” he muttered into his hand, then looked up at the goblin and explained, “It’s probably still being held by Professor Dumbledore, or maybe Molly Weasley.”

After glancing around helplessly, Harry finally gave a huff and asked, “Is there a magicky way I can prove I’m Harry Potter _without_ my key?”  
  
The bank went silent.   
  
“Certainly,” the goblin said after a moment, almost eagerly, and withdrew from under his counter an intricately-carved silver bowl and a knife made of blackest obsidian, “Simply prick your finger and drop three drops of blood into the bowl.”

“Kay,” Harry said brightly, pointedly ignoring the morbid anticipation of all the other tellers as he stretched up to do as he was told. The knife pricked his skin easily, as if his hand wanted it to, and as soon as the third drop touched the bottom of the bowl it melted into a puddle.  
  
“Was that supposed to happen?” Harry asked doubtfully, but the teller merely gestured to the silver. The marble floor underneath Harry cut a seam into itself and gently rose so that he could look over the edge of the high counter, and with a glance at the grinning goblin, he looked into the pool.   
  
Reflected in the silver were a pair of eyes, but not just his Avada Kedavra green, oh no. Blue and green and brown and sometimes even black and purple and red and glowing gold. Dozens of people seemed to stand beside him and behind him and in front of him and in the exact same place he was standing at the exact same time, but even though the effect was nauseating he found he couldn’t look away. He had to find something in this miasma, something important, but he didn’t know what it was he was looking for. He leaned in further, trying to see past the shifting colors as something...began to...take...form...…

Black spots began to dance in front of his vision as he looked harder, and time slowed to a crawl as he darted his gaze back and forth almost feverishly. The eyes in the pool were calling to him, begging him to find what he was looking for, and he could practically feel what it was.

If only...he could get...just a bit... _closer…_

 

  
  
Then suddenly, a voice yelled, “ _ **NO!**_ ” quite close to his ear, and an invisible force pushed him back from the pool and onto his butt.

A key spat itself out from the puddle, and the rest of the silver evaporated.  
  
Harry leaned over and vomited over the edge of his ledge onto the pristine floor below, the stomach bile and food matter vanishing right after, and the floor beneath him lowered softly back into place as he shivered and shook. He laid down as softly as he could and swallowed hard, trying to get the horrible taste out of his mouth as he clenched his eyes shut tightly, and slowly came to notice someone nearly screaming over his head.   
  
“...-ING IMBECILE, YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO WORK HERE OR ANYWHERE ELSE FOR THAT MATTER! IF IT WAS UP TO ME YOU’D BE EXECUTED! NOW REPORT TO SUBLEVEL A23 TO START YOUR TIME IN THE **_SILVER MINES_**!” the voice raged, and a thump reached Harry’s tired ears that his brain didn’t want to process.

Then, though, a gnarled yet kind hand poked his mouth open and dribbled a sweet-tasting potion onto his tongue. He instantly found himself a little better, opening his eyes blearily to find a bottle held in front of his face. He took it with a slightly-shaky hand and drank down the rest of the liquid, blinking happily a moment later and sitting up. Soon he was as peppy and hyper as a twelve-year-old boy should be, and when he stood up happily and craned his neck to gaze upwards once more, a new goblin gazed down at him from the counter.  
  
“I offer my sincerest apologies for that harrowing experience, Mr. Potter. That ritual isn’t even supposed to be used on adult wizards without both their knowledge and express permission. The potion has restored your physical health, but I recommend not trying any magic for at least two days. I hope you can forgive Gringotts?” the goblin hedged anxiously, but Harry merely smiled.   
  
“Hogwarts isn’t starting for at least another week, and I’m fine, so what’s the worry?” he asked cheerfully, and at the goblin’s astonished look gave a happy laugh. “I guess this means I’m really Harry Potter then?” he asked, nodding to the gleaming key on the counter, and the startled goblin nodded in affirmation.

“That is correct. That particular ritual had some other ramifications as well, but we’ll get into those later. In the mean time, I heard you wanted to get into your vault?” the teller prompted, obviously trying to cover his nervous surprise, and Harry gave a start of remembrance.  
  
“That’s right! I need around one hundred Galleons from my vault for an Undetectably-Expanded Bag,” Harry explained seriously, and the goblin gave a small smile.   
  
“Of course Mister Potter, but instead of trekking all the way down to your vault, might I suggest you simply take this?” he suggested, holding up a rather plain-looking leather bag with the Gringotts emblem on one side and another purple and silver emblem on the other.   
  
“This is what we call a waybag,” the goblin explained, “It allows you to withdraw money directly from your vault without having to visit it. It can’t bring out items, though. I offer it to you free of charge, as an apology for earlier.”   
  
“Oh!” Harry said in surprise, for he had always been told goblins were rather frugal, then, “Um, thank you, but I don’t really mind paying for it.”   
  
Several seconds passed in absolute silence, not one soul in the bank moving an inch.

“Mister Potter, you truly are something else,” the goblin said finally, then pressed the bag into the boy’s hand and said, “I insist. And, if you have time, come in after you purchase your bag. Gringotts will add their own enchantments to it, also free of charge. If not, we’ll spell it on your next visit.”

“O-oh, wow. That’s very generous of you! Thank you!” Harry stuttered in surprise, then, “Is there anything I can do in return?”  
  
The goblin started to shake his head, even as his astonishment grew a tad more pronounced, then paused in thought for a moment. Finally, he admitted, “Your grandfather was rather suspicious of goblins and locked the money in the Potter accounts away from us. With your permission, we would be able to invest this money to help your fortune grow. Would that be acceptable?”   
  
“Where do I sign?” Harry joked, then blinked as a quill and parchment were primly thrust under his nose.   
  
“Here, here, and here,” the goblin said matter-of-factly.

“Oh, well, alright then,” Harry muttered, taking the quill and signing his name in the indicated spots with a flourish. The parchment and quill were reclaimed as quickly as they had appeared, and the visibly-excited goblin gave Harry a toothy grin.  
  
“If that is all Mister Potter, Gringotts bids you farewell,” he said, hopping off his stool and beginning to shuffle away quickly.   
  
“Wait!” Harry yelled, and the goblin turned back, impatient to be off. “Who do I ask for if I want to talk to you again? You seem to be very helpful,” Harry admitted, and the goblin blinked before forcing himself to calm.   
  
“My name is Bloodaxe,” he intoned formally, then as an afterthought added, “Farewell, Mister Potter. May your gold overflow from your vaults and your enemies quiver in your shadow.”

“Erm, goodbye Bloodaxe,” Harry responded, a bit awkwardly, “May your gold, uhm, never stop multiplying and your enemies, ah, die on your blade?”

Bloodaxe gave a surprised bark of laughter and turned to leave, shouting over his shoulder, “Very good, Mister Potter, very good!”  
  
The entire bank breathed a sigh of relief as Harry left, three people fainting and another possibly having an aneurism.

* * *

“Here I am!” Harry shouted as he raced back into the store, out of breath but triumphant, “Bit of trouble at the bank but I got it!”  
  
He plunked his new pouch down on the counter and opened it as Ron wandered back over from where he was browsing, confused when there was nothing inside but a piece of parchment. Taking it out, he read, “One, say amount. Two, spend.”   
  
With a clear, “One hundred Galleons,” he flipped the bag over a nearby cauldron and shook out the biggest pile of galleons the three in the store had ever seen.  It almost overflowed the thing, but luckily it was just big enough for the massive amount of money that jangled its way out of the pouch.

Once the last coin had settled, Harry turned to the shocked clerk and said happily, “One bag please.”

Ron gave a sigh of relief when the clerk moved away, confessing to a confused Harry, “I thought for a moment there you were gonna get me one as well.”

“Oh no, of course not. I know how much you hate charity,” Harry said to his friend happily, “You’ll just have to wait until Christmas for yours.”  
  
Harry turned back to the clerk before Ron could answer and refused to acknowledge anything about the bag after the fact. They continued on their way, Ron still protesting.

* * *

They had met up with Hermione about an hour after getting the bag, the girl bumping into Harry and rushing out an apology before she’d even gotten a good look at him. Once she realized that ‘oh my, I know this person!’ she gave an excited “Harry!” and pulled him into a hug to match Mrs. Weasley’s.  
  
She then turned to Ron and gave him the same treatment, and the boy was so utterly flabberghasted that he turned a tomato red and didn’t move for a few seconds. Once he’d regained his wits however, he raised his arms and awkwardly hugged Hermione back.   
  
“Nice t’see you again, Hermione,” he mumbled, giving her a grin that she returned happily.

“Nice to see you two again as well. Can you believe how packed the Alley is today?” she asked conversationally as they resumed forward motion.

"I'd expect it’s always like this,” Harry replied, “I mean, they probably don’t need any other magical shopping places what with how convenient Floo Powder is.”

Hermione blinked, then turned to Ron and questioned curiously, “ _Are_ there any others?”

Ron looked away into the crowd for a moment, thinking, then admitted, “I’ve never heard anybody mention any.”

Hermione gave a little noise of contemplation, then said complainingly, “Well, that’s just terribly inconvenient.”

“Seems that way, yes,” Harry agreed gruffly as he dodged out of the way of a jabbing elbow, accidentally bumping into another witch in its place. He gave a rushed apology as she assured him it was okay, she was used to it on days like today, before moving on. Ron and Hermione snickered as he rejoined them, cheeks burning red in embarrassment, and they soon found themselves sitting safely at a table out front Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor.

“Well that was a journey from start to finish,” Ron said, and Harry gave an amused snort as he pulled his school list from his robes. Smoothing it out on the table, he claimed a self-inking quill from the expensive bag now slung around his neck and started scratching things off.

“We got the quills and ink after we passed that weird bat lady...the apothecary was just before that small explosion...robes were when we narrowly missed being spelled by that duel...uh huh,” Harry said finally, gazing down at his list, then turned to Hermione and said, “We only have to get our books.”  
  
“It’s the same for me as well,” Hermione said, then seemed to actually register the sentence and perked up amazingly. “Oh Harry, we simply _must_ wait for Gilderoy Lockhart to be there!”

“Glindensnoy Who-fart?” Ron asked incredulously, and Hermione smacked him lightly as Harry barked out a surprised laugh.  
  
“ _Gilderoy Lockhart,_ ” she enunciated clearly, “He’s the one who wrote all of our Defence Against the Dark Arts books. He’s very famous for protecting people from dangerous magical creatures.”

“Yes, because I of all people know that every account of fame is completely accurate,” Harry said sarcastically, adding, “Hermione, if he wrote all these books, who’s to say he actually did all these things?”

“Because they’re all very real places that you can still visit, because of him I might add,” Hermione explained, unperturbed by Harry’s skepticism, “Everybody from these places confirms the events happened as he told them.”

Harry hummed noncommittally as he stood up on his chair, trying to see over the throngs of people moving through the Alley. Finally, just down the street, he spied a sign in the window of Flourish and Blotts.  
  
“Three o’clock,” he announced finally, sitting back down, “About two hours yet.”

Hermione gave a disappointed groan and slumped in her chair.

“Oh, cheer up Hermione! It’s only two hours!” Harry tried to reassure his friend, but she remained resolutely miserable. He sighed and said to Ron, “I expect she’ll stay like this until she gets to meet that Lockhart fellow.”

“Well, perhaps he’s there now, setting up?” Ron speculated, “We could go and check.”

Before either of them knew what was happening, Hermione had seized them by the wrists and dragged them out of their seats, plunging into the throng of wizards and witches with reckless abandon. The two boys were jabbed and jostled and other associated past tenses of verbs, but with surprising speed and accuracy, they found themselves hurrying through the front door of Flourish and Blotts.

“Scary…” Ron muttered under his breath as the possessed girl finally released them, and Harry couldn’t help but agree.

“Is Gilderoy Lockhart here yet?!” Hermione demanded, slamming her hands down on the front counter, and the poor clerk on duty could hardly find his voice in the face of the serious twelve-year-old.

FInally, the poor girl managed to stutter out, “N-No, he’s not due to arrive until half past two,” and Hermione gave an enraged shriek. The clerk whimpered and flinched away as the bookworm stomped over to the shelves, regarding them with fury for a moment before seizing an advanced text on the theory behind the origin of magic and throwing herself into an armchair to read.

“ _Very_ sorry about her,” Harry said as he approached the counter with Ron, “She’s just a bit excited to meet Mr. Lockhart.”

The clerk stared at him incredulously, glancing over at the girl before asking incredulously, “Is she _always_ like this when she’s excited?!”

“Pretty much, yeah. Not usually this angry though,” Ron supplied casually, leaning on the counter as he massaged his aching wrist. The clerk blinked owlishly, then thumped down weakly on a stack of books.

“That poor girl,” Harry commented to Ron as they wandered away from the counter, “Minding her own business until a wild Hermione appeared.”

“Poor _her_? Poor _us_! We’ve got to stay here, bored out of our minds, until Hermione meets Gilderoy _bloody_ Lockhart!” Ron complained, “What’d the bloke even _do_ , anyway?”

“Why don’t we find out?” Harry asked rhetorically, reaching out to pluck a copy of Year With a Yeti from a nearby pile. He opened the book and looked for a place to being reading, but found that the table of contents was being blocked by a piece of parchment.

Glancing at Ron, Harry handed him the book to hold while he unfolded the paper. It looked like it had been torn out of a notebook and left there, but though the scrawl was messy the words were clear.

“Gilderoy Lockhart is a sham,” Harry read out loud, ignoring the cry of outrage from Hermione, “The facts and dates in his books conflict with each other more than a snake conflicts with a mongoose. In this one, for example, he’s battling a yeti at the same time he’s supposedly ridding the world of the Bandon banshee. Additionally, there is no known spell to inflict a head cold on someone. There is a potion, but it relies on a chemical reaction in the stomach that yetis cannot produce.”  
  
The outraged Hermione that was about to berate him paused in the middle of taking a breath, her head slowly turning to one side as she searched her encyclopedic memory for any such spell. When she didn’t find it, she rushed over to the staircase and thundered up to the section on medical charms.   
  
“ _Move!_ ” her voice shrieked, and a moment later a terrified Draco Malfoy gave a high-pitched scream as he was pitched over the railing of the second floor. Landing with a solid-sounding thump, he immediately scrambled to his feet and raced out of the bookshop.   
  
“Let’s just stay down here,” Harry suggested, and Ron nodded his head quickly.


End file.
